Big bad love
by futotta neko
Summary: *** THIS STORY IS CURRENTLY UNDERGOING REVISION*** Monroe is in love with the Grimm. How long can he keep his feelings under control? And what if he can't? - A Monroe / Nick slash fic because.. the world needs more of them. 'Nuff said.
1. Chapter 1

Set somewhere in Season 1, and there aren't really any significant spoilers.

Please note that this is first and foremost a love story (so no quick smut, sorry). In the beginning it's humorous and fluffy, but it does go pretty dark at some point (though a happy ending is planned) - so read at your own risk ;-).

I am struggling with this story a bit, so any review - good or bad - will make me very happy :D.

* * *

It was time. Monroe looked at his vintage Breitling, then closed his eyes, breathing in some fresh spring air, full of sun, the exhilarating smell of warm grass, moss and tree bark.. and something else. Some_one_ else. The insignificant smell of his generic aftershave, mixed with the _very_ significant smell of his skin. Monroe sighed, shaking his head. Obviously, the lotion they found in the trailer, the one that was supposed to mask a Grimm's smell, was not overly effective.

_Or maybe I just know his smell too well by now._

The Blutbad stood still, taking deep breaths as wave after wave of the familiar fragrance hit him, almost forgetting what he was here for. Until a twig snapping under the detective's feet, hundreds of metres away, brought him to his senses.. or, rather, away from his senses.

The clockmaker shook his head again, sighing in frustration, and felt a Woge coming on. It was a relief that he didn't have to supress it this time. He had known from the start that all this was a very bad idea. Their wolf-catches-Grimm training sessions in the woods, their almost daily phone calls to discuss the latest Wesen news.. hell, their whole unlikely friendship was, well, unlikely for a good reason. How did he manage to get himself caught up in.. this?

The adrenaline surge of the Woge spreading through his body, both the question and any potential answers quickly turned irrelevant. The Blutbad crouched on the ground with a deep, guttural growl, digging his claws into the loose earth. In the course of the years, he had managed to convince himself that he did not need _this_, that he could happily exist without ever letting his animal self roam free. Of course, that was a lie.

The detective was drawing nearer fast and Monroe felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation. He waited until Nick was only a couple of jumps away and charged. As expected, the young Grimm's reflexes were still too slow, and the Blutbad did not hold back as he flung himself against the other man's body, pulling him to the ground and sending them rolling in the brushwood until Monroe finally came out on top.

* * *

A/N 2: I had a review saying this is very short. Yes, I know, it's more of a teaser really, and I'm sorry! I can't write much in a day since I have a little baby to look after ;). But I AM working on the next chapter, and I promise it will be longer...


	2. Chapter 2

In his wolven state, Monroe's eyesight was not much better than that of a Kehrseite. In fact, just as is the case with actual wolves, his ability to see sharply into the distance was rather limited. However, his other senses..

The mouth-wateringly sweet yet masculine scent of the young detective pinned to the ground beneath him was burning his nostrils, making his head reel. Fresh, hot sweat on recently washed skin, interspersed with faint notes of shampoo, fabric conditioner, ink and coffee to create a perfect olfactory harmony that he had grown addicted to. And deep down, underneath it all, Monroe could smell his blood, pulsing deliciously, could hear and _feel_ the other man's heartbeat against his chest, against his palm where he was holding the Grimm down by his wrist. Oh, if he could just bow down and..

"Hey, I think you made holes in my shirt!"

Nick's voice instantly snapped Monroe out of his happy little world of sensual overload and back into reality. He jumped to his feet in one giant leap, quickly retreating to a safe distance and regaining his human physiognomy. Though some other.. transformations that had taken place as a result of their brief closeness were more difficult to suppress.

"Sorry man. Should have been more careful with the claws."

Monroe could feel his face burn, and it wasn't just the familiar pain of the Woge. Thankfully, the detective seemed blissfully unaware. One of the things the clockmaker found most endearing about his friend was his relative naiveté, considering that he was a Grimm. _And_ a cop.

"It's alright. I'll declare this my 'Grimm training' shirt."

Monroe withdrew a few more steps as he watched the other man scramble to his feet with a mixture of a laugh and a pained groan. In Nick's case, unlike any regular friendship, what the Blutbad considered a "safe distance" seemed to only increase the longer he knew the detective.

"I can't believe you got me – again! You're amazing. Shouldn't this whole Grimm thing come with enhanced reflexes or, you know, some kind of superpower?"

"I think your ancestors were more the 'knowledge is power' kind of folks. Well, apart from all the head chopping business."

Right now, Monroe was more than grateful that his daily Pilates sessions had taught him efficient breathing techniques, which allowed him to keep his usual half jovial, half sarcastic tone of voice. Still, what just happened had almost thrown him. And the fact that it only happened in his head did little to improve matters.

Nick chuckled and busied himself with the not undemanding task of brushing his clothes clean of earth, grass and tiny pieces of dead leaves. Monroe took the opportunity to stare at him with what he could only hope would be mistaken for a casual gaze. He found the way the young man moved and held himself, and about every single little thing that he did strangely enticing, though he could not put a finger on what it was exactly that attracted him.

Of course, the clockmaker had known for a while now that he had grown unexpectedly fond of this unusual friendship. The hours they spent together had been the happiest he had known in a long time, despite being beaten up by everything the Wesen world had to offer on a regular basis. Monroe was often catching himself peeking at his mobile phone, wondering when Nick would call with another shady case that needed his help. And he was usually someone who despised all this modern technology and tried to use it as little as possible (unless kitchen gadgets were involved). At times, the Blutbad even found himself resenting his beloved clocks for making the time until the next call appear longer.

However, he had done a decent job convincing himself that he simply enjoyed the detective's company because of his easygoing, yet straightforward and determined personality. Which he _did_. That he admired Nick's uncompromising stance when it came to moral issues. Which he_ also_ did, even though it annoyed the hell out of him when they first met. And, of course, being on first name terms with a real flesh-and-blood Grimm was something he was secretely proud of. But this was only half the truth. Or maybe more like 40%.

There was also something else, much deeper and darker, something about Nick that spoke to the very core of Monroe's animalistic self, setting his blood on fire in all the wrong ways. The first time he noticed his friend having this effect on him was when they shared a few glasses of Monroe's home-brewed ale, and the clockmaker assumed there was something wrong with the yeast he used that made him more light-headed than it should have. To think anything else would have been sheer madness. Sure, he was naturally bisexual, like most Blutbaden. But the last time he felt this kind of attraction towards a guy, well, towards _anyone_ for that matter, was in his wild past and he did not like to think about it. His libido was intimately tied up with some other urges that could seriously jeopardise his peaceful existence as a Wieder Blutbad. But it was getting more and more difficult to remain in denial as things were progressively getting worse. And today.. today was bad.

Monroe's train of thought came to a sudden halt as Nick looked up, giving him a lopsided smile.

_Very bad_.

Monroe instantly turned on his heels and made towards the car park with the mechanical and slightly jerky movements of a freshly wound-up clockwork toy.

"Wait, I thought we were going to have another round!"

Nick quickly caught up with him.

"But, you know, maybe next time you could be a bit less.. forceful?"

"Hey man, _you_ told me not to hold back, right?"

"Yeah I know", Nick laughed. "But Juliette already thinks I'm up to something weird, so once she sees all these bruises..".

Monroe bit his lip. Conveniently, he kept forgetting about Juliette – even though he still had very fond memories of her vegan salmon recipe.

_As if it made any difference that he has a girlfriend._

But what concerned him even more was the fact that the thought of giving Nick bruises did not make him feel guilty in the slightest. Quite the opposite was the case, it was making his spine tingle.

"Who knows, she might like it."

"Hmm.. well, I did pinch a pair of handcuffs from work the other day, and.."

"Yeah, yeah, too much information. Listen.."

Monroe stopped in his stride and turned to face his friend once again. He had collected himself enough now to be able to bear being so close to him, without..

".. I don't think there needs to be a 'next time' anyway."

"What?"

"You're getting much better."

"Are you kidding? You just wiped the floor.. well.. the ground with me. And for a moment there, I did think you were going to bite me or something."

Monroe gave a laugh that sounded just the tiniest bit strained.

_You don't even have the faintest idea._

"Great, I'm glad you appreciate my physical and artistic skills, and I would _love_ to spend even more time fighting the evil of the world with you and all that shebang, but I _do_ actually have a profession, you know."

He started walking again, brushing aside some tree branches that were hanging in his way, maybe a little harder than necessary.

"But I thought you were enjoying this."

"I am, and I _also _enjoy being able to pay my mortgage on time. Look, there is a whole.." – he made a sweeping gesture in the air – "this huge pile of clocks that are sitting in my living room, and they are not going to repair themselves. And I doubt that _you_ are going to come and help me with _my_ job."

"Ha, as if you would let me anywhere near your precious clocks."

"Damn right, you have the fine motor skills of a Siegbarste."

The Blutbad was more than relieved to finally arrive at the car park. He headed towards his Super Beetle, fumbling for keys, with Nick still not leaving his side.

"Listen, Monroe, did I do something to piss you off? I know I'm asking a lot, but we.."

"Please", Monroe leaned against his open car door with a sigh. "Can we discuss this another time? I have this appointment with a cuckoo.."

"A cuckoo?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "I haven't noticed one of those in my books."

"No man, a cuckoo clock supplier. Seriously, you should try and resurface in the human world once in a while."

He slammed the door in the other man's face and started the engine. As he drove off, he watched Nick spread his arms in a "what the hell?" gesture in the rear window, then walk over to his own car. Monroe was already missing his scent.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's still not a very long chapter, but I'm getting better, right? ;D I have no idea where to go from here though, so hope I'll get an inspiration. Please review to let me know if this is worth continuing :)


	3. Chapter 3

The next couple of months were quiet and uneventful, which was exactly how Monroe liked them, thank you very much. Once he had taken the decision that enough was enough and his obsession with the young detective had to stop he was determined to see it through. Even if it meant to sacrifice their friendship. It would be for the best, for both of them.

Nick continued to visit him several times a week, but the clockmaker made a point of keeping those meetings as brief and businesslike as possible, nipping the detective's attempts to take him along on one of his 'field missions' in the bud. Then, about a month ago, Monroe casually slipped in a remark about that time when he was almost beaten to death by the reapers for helping the Grimm. The detective seemed to have taken the hint since he stopped bothering him altogether, apart from the occasional phone call when he needed his friend to translate the odd German or Spanish paragraph for him. Which Monroe did not mind too much, since that type of communication did not involve seeing or _smelling_ the Grimm.

Oh, how he missed his smell! Of course, Monroe missed the other things as well, their conversations, all the adventures they have had together, even the way they just hung out at his place sometimes, winding down from their latest foray into the local Wesen community, which usually tended to be less than friendly. During those times, they didn't even need to speak in order to enjoy each other's company.

But it was undeniably Nick's physical and olfactory presence that Monroe was missing the most. After the first week of not seeing the detective his body went into complete shock, which was when it hit home how careless he had really been, how far he had allowed things to come. He was experiencing typical symptoms of the Entzug, a Blutbad's separation from its mate: nausea, sleeplessness, persistent stomach cramps and headaches, and, worst of all, an almost unbearable craving to be near his chosen one. It wasn't pretty, and caught Monroe completely by surprise. He had not experienced anything like that since his twenties, and he certainly did not expect it to happen now, since he never even had a physical relationship with Nick – well, apart from the occasional man hug and rolling around in the grass. But, obviously, his body had a mind of its own.

The first few days were so bad that Monroe just about made it from his bed to the couch, where he spent endless hours rewatching what felt like every single Hollywood movie ever made in the 1950ies. And 60ies, and 70ies. But after about ten days the symptoms started to ease off, and a fortnight later Monroe was convinced that he had never felt better. He was finally able to settle back into the pleasant routine of his day-to-day life that had been completely ruined when he first met Nick. He could once again fully immerse himself in his work and some recently neglected hobbies, without having to expect to be interrupted any minute. He even started waking up in the morning without seeing Nick's face in front of him. Though the detective was still on his mind far too often. But it was bearable.

What's more, his relationship with Rosalee was progressing in the right direction. And she wasn't simply a 'second choice', oh no, he liked and respected her way too much to do that to her. It was a completely different kettle of fish altogether. Monroe did have feelings for her, warm, _human-like_ feelings that could be compared to a comforting symphony, rather than an orchestra pit full of alarm bells. It was the kind of relationship he would be able to sustain, they might even have kids. After all, interwesen marriages were not uncommon these days, even though the royalty still frowned upon them. Of course, it was too early to think about that since they were still in the courting stage, but Monroe was hopeful for the future.

And then.._ this_ day happened.

* * *

A/N: Of course, all that stuff about Entzug is not canon, but I think it makes sense? I did not plan the story to be so scent-kink heavy originally, but I like it. If you enjoy my writing then please review :). It's difficult to keep going if I don't know whether it's any good.


	4. Chapter 4

When he opened the door Monroe was expecting to accept a delivery of miniature clock faces, and he already had a grumpy comment prepared for the postman, who was late as usual. What he did _not _expect was being hit by a wave of his favourite scent, so strong that it almost sent him reeling backwards, but he grasped the door frame for support just in time.

"Hi."

Nick gave a small wave of his hand.

"Ungh" was the only response that Monroe could muster. He fought hard to sustain his human form, losing the ability to speak somewhere in the process. After going cold turkey almost a month ago, facing the detective now was more than his starved senses could handle.

"Are you okay? You look a bit pale."

"Uh..", he cleared his throat, summoning all the self-control his dazed mind was capable of. "Yeah. Fine. Everything. Good. Hi."

Nick furrowed his brow, but obviously decided to leave it alone and gave his friend a sunny smile instead.

"Well, will you invite me in?"

Monroe opened his mouth, aiming to formulate a polite but negative response, but to his surprise he found that his feet were already moving aside and his right arm was making an inviting gesture.

_Oh great._

He shook his head in disbelief as he closed the door behind the detective, watching him proceed into the living room.

_Yeah, just go and spread your smell everywhere._

It would take several days to get it out of the house again. The thought filled him with despair and delight in roughly equal measures.

"Right..", Monroe followed the Grimm, trying not to notice how his back looked just as appetising as the front. He focused his attention on the grandfather clock opposite the doorway instead. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. "Too late for coffee, but too early for beer?"

"It's never too early for beer", Nick declared. "Well, if.. um.. ", he hesitated, "you have some.. _commercial_ brew on offer?"

Monroe snorted.

"Don't worry, I haven't made any further attempts at home-brewing lately".

He walked into the kitchen and opened his fridge.

"Not that I didn't appreciate the.. um.. _creativity_ of your nettle and honey ale", Nick shouted from the living room with a laugh.

Monroe took out two ice cold bottles and pressed them to both sides of his face. He had missed hearing Nick laugh like that more than he would ever be willing to admit to another soul, whether living, undead or of any other kind.

_For God's sake, just find a way to get rid of him_. _It's only a small setback. It will be fine. You will be fine._

His attempts to calm himself were met with only mediocre success. The Blutbad could already feel his body temperature rise as his inner wolf was throwing himself about, breathing out of every pore of his skin and demanding to be let out.

"Hey, do you need help over there?"

Monroe took a deep breath, quickly wiped his face on his sleeve and came back into the living room. He found Nick lounging comfortably on his couch and certainly not in any hurry to go anywhere. The Grimm had always known how to make himself at home at his friend's house. The clockmaker had vivid memories of one occasion when he went into his study to take a call, and returned to find that Nick had made himself a sandwich and was browsing through his books, leaving hummus marks on an antique copy of 'War and Peace'. Being a textbook introvert, at least in his human form, Monroe was fascinated by the detective's carefree confidence, though it did make him wonder if they could ever have become friends naturally, would he not have proven himself useful as the Grimm's guide to the Wesen world. They were complete opposites in so many respects.

Monroe walked up to the couch and looked down on his friend, only barely managing to suppress the urge to jump on top of him and press him deeper into the soft cushions, to bury himself into that glorious smell. And stay there forever.

"Here."

Monroe handed Nick his bottle and quickly retreated to the other side of the room.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Just breathe._

He threw a cautious glance at his friend, but Nick was busy studying the label on the bottle.

"Loo-veen-brew?"

The clockmaker pointedly rolled his eyes, relieved to be handed a conversational topic on a silver platter.

"Your ancestors must be turning over in their graves listening to you slaughtering the German language. It's 'Löwenbräu', and, believe me, it's the best Bavarian beer you will find. You're lucky I had a big delivery last week. They've been brewing it in Munich since the 14th century, but what's particularly interesting is what happened to the brewery during the second world war, when -"

Monroe stopped mid-sentence as he caught Nick's amused gaze, suddenly realising that he had gone from not being able to speak at all, to speaking _a lot_, and very fast. He raised his own drink to his lips and gulped down a good half of it in one swallow before putting the bottle down on the bookshelf next to him, a little louder than intended.

"So", the Blutbad was well aware that his attempt at a casual tone of voice was not entirely convincing. "What brings you here?"

_And why do you have to look so good?_

"Oh, nothing in particular", Nick took a sip and shrugged. "Juliette is staying with her family in Seattle overnight, so I thought I'll pay you a visit."

"Ah."

"It's been a while, so maybe we could grab dinner together or something?"

"Well.. umm", Monroe scratched the back of his head, "dinner..".

He could not take his eyes off Nick, the soft dark hair falling on his forehead, his beautiful, full lips, and further down, the thin blue polo shirt clinging to his toned upper body. This was getting dangerous. Monroe forcefully shook his head.

"Um, I'd love to, man, but I already have dinner plans with Rosalee, so.."

It was a lie, but a believable one.

"Really?" Nick studied him from behind his bottle with a little smile. "Because I stopped by the spice shop today, and she told me she was looking forward to a quiet night in, on her own."

"Oh.."

Monroe felt blood rush to his face and pulse in his temples. He was almost left speechless once again.

"Well.. umm.. she must have forgotten", he mumbled, thoughts racing. "Maybe.. maybe I should go over and remind her.. right away..".

He was desperately hoping that the detective would take the hint and leave, but the young man did not budge.

"So you're not going to tell me what is the matter with you."

It was a statement rather than a question, and the detective was looking at him intently now. The cheerfulness had disappeared from his face, and Monroe did not like it. At all.

"You know, I thought we were friends and trusted each other."

Nick got up, putting the bottle on the floor, and Monroe took a step back, instantly feeling the solid wood of the bookshelf pressing against his back. He was trapped.

"And then you suddenly become so distant and shut me out. And don't tell me it's because you're scared of the reapers, because I know you're not that kind of guy."

Nick made a step towards him, and Monroe pushed himself deeper into the shelf, looking away and desperately trying to think of something to say, but he could not get hold of a single thought. His heart was pounding dangerously against his ribs, and he knew he would not be able to suppress the Woge much longer.

_Please.. stay away._

"If I wronged you in any way, don't I at least deserve to know what I did? Or if there is some other problem.."

Another step. Monroe groaned in frustration as he felt his human form melt away. Nick was only an arm's reach away now.

".. maybe I could.."

"_YOU_ are the problem", the wolf roared, lashing out and sending the Grimm flying across the room and back onto the couch, where he landed with a dull thud. He looked deliciously helpless now, sprawled on his back, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of smooth, pale skin. The Blutbad gave a deep growl, preparing for a jump. Finally, he would get a taste of that ridiculously tempting skin..

"Whoa.. hey!"

Nick pushed himself up on his elbows, and the look of genuine shock and hurt in his eyes was like a cold shower, instantly and unexpectedly throwing Monroe back to his human shape. He stopped himself at the very last second, panting heavily. For a few moments they were staring at each other in silence.

"Monroe.. it's just me."

"_Exactly_."

There was nowhere for the Blutbad to retreat any longer. His game was lost, his whole body was aching and begging for release, and the truth was tearing his throat apart, forcing itself out.

"I want you."

Monroe shuddered, hoping that the ground would open and swallow him up.

"To do what?" Nick looked utterly confused.

"Huh?!"

"You want me to do what?"

"No, not to do anything", Monroe cried in sheer exasperation, shaking from embarrassment and the adrenaline that was flooding his veins; the alcohol was not helping either. "_You_. I want _you_, damn you."

"How do you –"

"What kind of an idiot are you? Has no-one ever had the conversation about the birds and the bees with you?"

"What?"

"Or maybe in this case.. the birds and the.. Oh I don't even.. arghhh!"

Monroe spun around in frustration, grabbing the wooden bookshelf with both hands and slamming his forehead against it several times. He was certainly no stranger to socially awkward situations, but this here was taking the biscuit.

A few long, very long seconds passed, filled only with the Blutbad's uneven breathing and the ticking of multiple clocks.

"Oh.."

The detective's voice was only a whisper now.

Monroe closed his eyes. So Nick finally understood. Good. Bad. He could not tell anymore, and it did not matter. But he felt a little calmer now that it was all out in the open.

"Look", he said hoarsely, not daring to turn around and face the Grimm. "I can't believe I am even having this conversation with you, so maybe.. you shouldn't believe it either and.. maybe you should go."

"But.. what about Rosalee?"

"Just go."

Monroe heard the detective get up from the sofa. He was way too exhausted now, physically and emotionally, and in every other way, to maintain a solid appearance, fluctuating between his human and animal forms instead. He wished nothing more than to grab him and have his way with him, and stopping him from leaving, ever.

"Monroe.."

"Do you have any idea.. how _hard_ it is.. to control myself?", the Blutbad snarled, randomly picking a book from the shelf and hurling it over his shoulder.

"_GO_!"

"Okay."

There was the sound of quick footsteps, a door opening and closing, and then there was only silence.

Monroe stood frozen on the spot for a few moments, then let himself sink to the floor with a quiet sob, burying his face in his hands.

Well, that was that. Now he would never, ever see him again.

* * *

A/N: Well, what do you think? I was trying to make it romantic _and_ passionate_ and_ funny all at the same time, so not sure I achieved any of it, haha! By the way, English is only my third language (my native languages are Russian and German), so if you stumble upon something that sounds weird please let me know! Also, I'm in England, so I'm aware that I'm using some British colloquialisms, but I hope that's not a problem for American readers. Pleaseeeeee review :)

A/N 2: I just watched the Halloween episode (series 2), and isn't Silas Weir Mitchell just _smoking_ hot? *nosebleed*


	5. Chapter 5

Monroe thought it was pretty ironic that, being a clockmaker and all that, he had felt suspended in time ever since Nick left. The days were dragging their feet, and every hour felt the same.

He found ways to keep himself busy, but nothing brought him much joy, not even restoring a rare French 17th century clock, which had been his pet project for some time.

Monroe's thoughts kept circling around everything he had said and done, and _almost done_ to Nick, in an endless loop of shame, making him cringe and curse himself every time. And if he did manage to banish the painful memories for a while, his mind instantly began to fantasise about seeing the Grimm again. Those daydream scenarios ranged from Nick returning to shoot him, to Nick suddenly appearing under his bedroom window to profess his undying love, Shakespeare-style. And then there was everything inbetween.

Though, in all honesty, Monroe did not actually expect to ever see the detective again, no, there was no way Nick would want to have anything to do with him now. Which is why he was in no rush to start the whole process of trying to forget the detective all over again. There was plenty of time for that. Sure, at some point he would have to accept that Nick was not in his life anymore, but today was not the day. And tomorrow wasn't looking very likely either.

Last month, even though they did not see each other, at least they were still friends in theory, and this knowledge, together with the odd phone call, gave Monroe the strength to keep his emotional distance and get on with his life. But now he had nothing - only the jacket that Nick forgot as he left. The clockmaker pressed it against his face every now and again, wallowing in the way that the smell made his insides ache.

And despite better knowledge, Monroe's heart skipped a beat everytime the bell rang, and he snuck up to the door, sniffing cautiously.

Once there was the postman as his long awaited clock faces finally arrived.

Then there were two door-to-door sales people who almost got to see his angry face as they tried to set him up with a selection of digital watches.

Next was his mate from the pub who was worried about him, and Monroe had to reassure him that he had not fallen back into any old lupine habits, despite missing a few of the meet-ups.

Then there was Rosalee, who brought him the Fieberdistel-Extrakt he requested "for a friend". She wanted to stay, but Monroe blamed his terrible headaches for wanting to be alone, and it wasn't even too far from the truth.

And then, five days after they last met, there was Nick.

Monroe stood by the door in complete shock, barely breathing. The Grimm's appearance could not be a good thing in any shape or form, and still he felt blissfully happy.

"Monroe? I can see you, you know?"

Nick knocked against the glass ornament impatiently.

The clockmaker bit his lip, trying to remember the many good reasons to keep this door closed – both literally and metaphorically. But the temptation was simply too strong. He would not let him in, Monroe decided, but there was probably nothing wrong with having a quick peek (and sniff)?

He opened the door just a crack, giving his face a grumpy expression. Despite the embarrassment of their last encounter, the clockmaker still had enough pride left not to show the Grimm how excited he was to see him. Which wasn't an easy thing to hide since Nick looked as delicious as ever. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, as usual, to reveal his neck and hints of collarbone. Monroe felt his mouth water as his heart picked up pace.

"What do you want?"

The Blutbad was glad he had already taken some Fieberdistel-Extrakt earlier that morning, as a prophylactic measure. For centuries, this tincture had been used by Wesen to dampen the urge to mate and other animalistic Wesen needs. It could even suppress the Woge for a while, though a prolonged treatment was known to be dangerous. Monroe was hoping it would alleviate the symptoms if he were to experience another bout of Entzug. He felt too old to go through it again. In all fairness, he felt too old for any of this madness. What became of his quiet, peaceful life?

"I need your help."

Nick looked concerned, but still gave him a smile.

"What?!"

Beeing the brooding type, Monroe had prepared countless dialogues in his head in case he and Nick were ever to meet again. He had all the right words lined up in order to apologise or to defend himself, to give or to refuse an explanation. But he was _not_ prepared for the detective to simply ignore what had happened and come to ask for his help, as if things were just fine and dandy between them. For some reason, it made Monroe feel a little bit insulted. Well, at least now the clockmaker did not need to _pretend _to be annoyed.

"No", was the only response that came to mind spontaneously.

He wanted to close the door, but Nick had already put his foot into the entrance.

"Come on man, it's a question of life and death!"

"Isn't it always?" Monroe grumbled, pushing against the door with all his weight.

"That's why I need you."

Nick pushed against the door from the other side.

"I'd hate to break your foot, man."

Monroe pushed harder.

"Then don't!"

Nick pushed harder.

"Just give me a minute, please Monroe.."

The Blutbad sighed. He had always thought that his parents had given him a bit of a strange name. But out of Nick's mouth it sounded just right.

He let go of the door without a warning and Nick came flying into the hallway, landing on his hands and knees. Monroe had to admit that he quite enjoyed the sight.

"Well, I know _exactly_ how long a minute is.."

"Okay, okay!"

Nick raised his hands in an appeasing gesture as he scambled to his feet.

"Look, I know I should have called first, and I'm sorry, but you probably would have just told me not to come."

"You bet. And that's seven seconds gone."

"Right. Does this mean anything to you?"

Nick fumbled in his back pocket and produced a drawing that he held in Monroe's face. The clockmaker looked at it, unwillingly at first, but more enthusiastically once he realised what it was.

"Where did you get that from?"

He took the piece of paper from Nick and studied it carefully. From the style of the drawing it was clear that it wasn't Nick's own, or even a Grimm's work at all.

"An ex-colleague came by the office yesterday, he works in a psych ward now and, apparently, one of his patients claims to have seen this in Mount Hood."

"Mount Hood? As in _our_ Mount Hood? Again?"

"Yep."

"That's impossible."

Monroe stared at the drawing. It was a crude image of a wooden hut that was standing on what looked like two giant chicken legs.

"That's a Baba Yaga's hut, right?"

"That's what I thought."

"They don't ever leave Russia."

"This one did."

"Wow. That's bad news. Why do things always happen in that damn forest? How- "

Monroe stopped himself short as he suddenly realised that a minute had passed sometime ago – 47 seconds, he reckoned – and he was getting involved into something he really shouldn't be any part of.

"Be careful."

He handed the drawing back to Nick and gave him a look that quite clearly indicated that it was time to leave. But, apparently, not clearly enough.

"I know this will be very dangerous, but if we go - ..."

"No, no, no, wait!" Monroe interrupted him. "We – as in _you and me_ – are not doing _anything _together. Not going anywhere, and no other verb-ing of any kind."

"Why not?"

"I'm sorry?!"

Monroe blinked, staring at the young Grimm.

"Were you mentally present the last time you visited? Did you notice anything unusual that happened? Something I said, maybe, when you asked why I don't spend time with you anymore?"

"Um, yeah..", Nick scratched his head and looked away, but Monroe still noticed how his face gained a faint red hue. That gave him some satisfaction. At least, he had not been ignored completely. Only, like, 90%, as usual. From the moment they met, Nick had not cared too much about his preferences when he wanted something done.

".. but I thought, maybe it was some kind of Blutbaden joke."

"_REALLY_?"

"Well, I didn't know _what_ to think, so.. I kind of didn't really think much about it."

"I see. You didn't really think."

Monroe shook his head, still gobsmacked. He wished he had that kind of nonchalance.

"_Anyway_", Nick faced him again, looking determined, "I can't do this without you."

He waved the drawing in front of Monroe's face, like a dog owner might do with a bone.

"Yes, you can. You're the Grimm."

"Actually, I read one of my Russian ancestors' account last night. He was hunting a Baba Yaga across the Taiga for almost a year. But since the hut was moving around he could not find it.. until he enlisted the help of a local Blutbad, who followed the scent of the chicken legs, and - .."

"_Great_! This is getting better and better." Monroe scoffed, crossing his arms. "It has been a while since you just wanted me for my nose. I'm flattered, really. At least, last time you brought wine."

"Monroe, you _know_ what will happen if we don't catch her before the new moon."

Nick tilted his head, looking at him out of big blue-green eyes with that special _Nick Look_ that he could never resist. Monroe rolled his eyes.

"F I N E."

He knew too well that he would never be able to forgive himself if anything were to happen to the detective; and a Baba Yaga was certainly not a laughing matter.

"But this will be the last time."

Nick shrugged, looking a little dispirited all of a sudden.

"Okay."

"And I will take my own car."

"Well.. actually we'll both have to take your car since mine is in the garage. Juliette has dropped me off."

"Oh! Anything else? Maybe you would like to eat my porridge and sit on my chair as well?"

_And sleep in my bed_, he almost added, but caught himself just in time.*

"I'd rather have fried eggs.."

"For a Grimm you really don't know your fairy tales very well."

Monroe shook his head again, muttering something along the lines of "this is unbelievable" and "why the hell am I even doing this to myself" and walked into the kitchen, but on the inside he was far less displeased with the whole situation than he was letting on. He had missed his adventures with Nick so badly that even something as dangerous as a Baba Yaga hunt seemed like a picnic in the park with all his favourite foods lined up.

He opened a cupboard and took out the little bottle of Fieberdistel-Extrakt, unscrewing its top to reveal a small pipette. Monroe looked at it for a second but then decided that he could not be bothered with the exact dosage and took a good sip instead.

"What's that?"

Nick appeared in the doorway behind him.

"Do you have your gun?", Monroe answered his question with a question.

"Yeah, but.. from what I read it's useless against her."

"Not for the Baba Yaga. For me."

"Why do you need a gun?"

"I don't. But _you_ might need to shoot me – if I lose control."

Nick furrowed his brow, looking lost.

"This should stop me from attacking you", Monroe elaborated, showing him the bottle before putting it into the pocket of his cardigan. "But if it fails, then.."

"_Attacking_ me?"

"Well, Blutbaden mating practices are not exactly gentle."

"I'm not gonna _shoot_ you, Monroe. And there's not gonna be any.. _mating_!"

For the first time, Nick sounded apprehensive, and Monroe realised that the detective really hadn't considered his feelings with any degree of seriousness whatsoever until now.

"You might change your mind. About the former, at least. Let's go."

He walked out of the kitchen, noticing how quickly Nick stepped away from the door to let him pass, probably a little further than necessary. It hurt him, but pleased him at the same time. At least Nick didn't think it was _some kind of Bludbaden joke_ anymore. And the further he stayed away, the better. Still, it hurt.

They went out the front door and over to Monroe's Beetle.

"Are you sure you want me to come with you?", Monroe asked as he opened the door, aware that Nick had gone quiet, but the detective nodded.

They drove in silence for a while, and as much as Monroe was trying to focus on the traffic, which was unusually heavy for a Wednesday afternoon in Portland, he could feel Nick's gaze upon the side of his face, slowly burning a hole into his cheek. He did not really want to open that can of worms, so he gave it another five miles or so. But enough was enough.

"Nick. You are staring at me, and yes, I can tell. So please stop."

The detective shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Monroe, can I ask you something?"

"I've got the feeling you're gonna ask anyway."

"It's just, how did it happen? I mean, how was it possible to.. "

"What, to fall in love with you?" Monroe threw a quick glance at the Grimm, satisfied to see him blush and squirm. At least now he wasn't the only one to feel embarrassed, and that was really the only satisfaction he could ever expect to gain from their relationship.

"I don't know, why don't you ask Juliette?"

"No, I mean.. when..?"

"Shall I draw you a graph?"

"Oh come on, you don't have to be like that!"

"Well, you don't have to ask moronic questions."

Nick gave a frustrated sigh.

"I'm just trying to understand, that's all! I didn't even know you were gay."

"Gay? Who said anything about gay? We Blutbaden just don't care a lot about gender when it comes to attraction. It's all about the chemistry, like, literally. Anything else?"

"No."

Another 5 miles of silence went by, then Nick spoke again, quietly.

"I miss you, you know? You were..", he hesitated, "you _are_ my best friend. You're the only person in the world that I don't have to lie to."

The sharp pang of guilt was unexpected and Monroe dug his fingers into the steering wheel, watching his knuckles turn white.

"Do you think I _wanted _any of this? I resisted it for as long as I could, and now I can't _do_ it anymore. I'm sorry. I am."

"Can't we still hang out?"

"_Hang out_?" The remorse was too painful to bear, and so it turned into agitation. "_Really_? Did you forget what it did to me last time? I hurt you, and I was about to hurt you a lot more. So, no."

"Well, what about that bottle?"

"Oh, so you would like me to keep myself permanently drugged and put up with the side effects so I can keep pretending that I'm okay with just being friends, and then everything is sunshine and lollipops for you? Well, _thanks _for the tempting offer, but no thanks."

"Fine, whatever!"

"Good."

Nick turned away to stare out of the window and Monroe switched on the radio. They drove on in silence.

* * *

A/N: So, Nick and Monroe are off on a little road trip. Nothing can go wrong.. right? ;D

I'm sorry it took me AGES to update, I really struggled with this chapter and rewrote some parts of it many times. It's not so easy to keep all the dialogues, thoughts and actions realistic, and I'm really aiming to be as IC as I can. So let me know if anything doesn't make sense!

Please review and make my day :D

* These are references to "Goldilocks and the Three Bears", of course.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Well, actually I planned something completely different for chapter 6. But I feel bad because I have portrayed Nick as a bit of an idiot so far, and he deserves better, haha! Also, I thought the story could use a bit of fluff. So here you are, a little fluffy Nick chapter :)

* * *

"As sure as night is dark and day is light, I keep you on my mind both day and night.."

Johnny Cash's cheerful crooning was a stark contrast to the bleak landscapes they were passing as they drove down Highway 26 on their way to Mount Hood, and it did nothing to lift Nick's mood. It wasn't even the rather high probability that one or both of them would end up dead and turned into stew at the end of this particular road trip that troubled him. Being killed was something he prepared himself for on a daily basis – horly, even, since he became a Grimm. That he could handle. Other things, less so.

Nick felt all mixed up and did not even try to shake it off, which wasn't like him at all. Usually he would just grit his teeth, put a smile on his face and get on with whatever needed doing. Of course, composure was an essential skill in his line of work. But it was also something that he learnt early on in his life, when both his parents died and he was moving around half the country with Aunt Marie. Always on the go, there wasn't much time to wallow in grief – or any other emotion for that matter. He must have visited at least a dozen different schools whilst growing up, making friends, losing friends, never settling; and that was ok, since he knew not to attach himself too much to anything, or anyone.

Of course, a lot had changed once he decided to stay in Portland and met Juliette. Finally, he felt like his life was gaining stability, he was even considering marriage. And then, he started seeing things..

His new-found vocation not only turned his professional life upside down and replaced his perfectly average hobbies with some rather bizarre extra-curricular activities, but it also affected his relationship far deeper than he was willing to admit. Of course, he still loved his girlfriend. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that the he who loved her was someone that Nick did not recognise anymore. Often he would sit at the dinner table with Juliette, listening to her talking about her latest feline patients or the new curtains she wanted to buy for their bedroom, but in his head he was still processing all the images of the day that were flooding his brain. And where he really wanted to be was over at Monroe's place, where he could let go of it all.

Yes, all through the confusion and outright craziness that was now his life, Monroe was the one constant that had helped him keep his sanity. He had been an invaluable, even if grumpy source of information during those first few manic weeks, when his aunt was in no condition to truly help him understand what was going on. And then he became his friend. Thinking back, it surely looked like an act of madness that Nick left the Blutbad to look after aunt Marie in the hospital when they hardly even knew each other. But the detective was just as certain then as he was now that Monroe would never betray his trust.

Usually, it took Nick a while to warm to another person, but there was something about Monroe that drew him in almost instantly. And it wasn't just the comfort he found in having someone that took him exactly for who he was, without being scared, like all the other Wesen he encountered. There were also all those weird and wonderful things that Monroe knew, and could do, and liked to talk about for hours over a glass of wine or beer. It was an endless source of fascination and entertainment, and just what the doctor ordered after a long day of feeling like the world had finally gone completely bonkers, which in Portland was about every second day. Monroe was also generous and funny, loyal and pretty good at ripping bad guys' arms off, which could come in handy sometimes. In short, there were a lot of things that Nick was not quite prepared to give up.

The detective sighed, pressing his forehead into the cold window glass. One part of him was angry, another part felt flattered, but mostly he was quite simply shocked. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. He was a _cop_, for God's sake! It was his_ job_ to read people's cues – and he missed _that_? Though, in hindsight, he could think of a few occasions that now appeared in a different light. Times when he caught Monroe's gaze lingering on his body, or when the Blutbad held his fingers just a little longer than necessary after they shook hands. He would have known, had he not been so damn self-centred!

From time to time, Nick did become aware that their friendship had always been about what_ he_ wanted and needed, and that he claimed quite a lot of the clockmaker's time. Which is why, when Monroe started to become distant, Nick decided to give him some space. Even though he did miss his friend like hell. And when he was finally fed up waiting and confronted Monroe, he thought that the Blutbad was in some kind of Wesen trouble that needed sorting out. He never expected..

Even after Monroe told him, Nick still could not believe it. It was as if someone had pulled the rug from underneath him but he just refused to fall. When he came to see the Blutbad today, he was genuinely hoping that there had been some kind of misunderstanding, and they could continue as usual. But he could no longer be in denial.

Nick fought hard to suppress the urge to look at Monroe now. He did not want to get caught staring again. But when he gazed at the other man earlier, it was as if a camera lens had been exchanged, and he was suddenly seeing him in a different light.. Though not in_ that_ kind of light, of course! He would never see a man in _that _kind of light.

Well.

There was that one.. interesting time when he was still in college, but he was in his teens, so it didn't count, and -

"Hey, did you hear this?!"


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Ok, this is where things are starting to get a little dark, and some future chapters will be darker again. I'm not gonna give another warning or a more specific one because I don't want to spoil you ;). You can probably tell in which direction it's all heading. So please read at your own risk. As always, reviews make me ecstatically happy ;D. Please enjoy!

* * *

They were driving through the outskirts of the forest now and Monroe thought that, at some point, they should really discuss what they would do with that Baba Yaga. Well, provided that they managed to find her and stay alive long enough to carry out any meaningful actions. But he did not feel like talking. For now, Monroe was quite content just driving, listening to his favourite Oldies radio station, breathing in Nick's comforting scent, sticking his head out of the window to sniff the air from time to time and contemplating which clocks he would definitely keep, and which might be sold or left with mates.

It was clear that if he were to survive the day, Monroe would have to finally take that decision and move away. Obviously, him and Nick experienced some difficulties staying away from each other, so a more radical measure was in order. It would be painful to leave Portland, but, being self-employed, he could live anywhere really, and he didn't have any close friends in the area, apart from Nick, of course, and Rosalee, who he would also miss, but -

_tk tk tk tk tk_

Monroe's train of thought was interrupted by a faint clicking noise. He could just about hear it in the background as Paul McCartney was giving him the valuable advice to _let it be_.

"Hey, did you hear that?!"

Nick almost jumped out of his seat. He must have been lost in thoughts of his own.

"Huh? Hear what?"

Monroe switched off the radio.

_tk tk tk tk tk t_k

"_That_."

"Oh."

_DK DK DK DK DK DK DDDD!_

A faint trail of smoke began to rise from the front hood.

"HOLY CRAP!"

Monroe pulled up on the side of the road just in time as the engine gave a final loud grunt and died.

He jumped out of the car, went around the front and lifted the hood, stumbling backwards as a large cloud of black smoke blew up in his face.

"Are you okay?"

Nick stepped out of the car. Monroe was too busy coughing and spitting to give a reply.

"Is the engine..?"

The clockmaker's soot-covered features gave him all the answers he needed.

"Damn! I did tell you that it was time for you to get a proper car.."

Monroe threw Nick a glance that redefined the expression 'if looks could kill'.

"Or, you know, maybe not."

The Blutbad did not deign to respond, instead he pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and his phone from the other, looking at it as he wiped his face.

"I don't have signal."

He looked around. They were about 20 miles into the forest now.

"Me neither".

"I thought you _always_ had signal."

"Yeah. On my _police _phone. It's my day off."

"Fantastic."

Monroe slammed the hood shut and leaned against it with both hands, letting his head hang.

"Maybe someone will drive past and get help", Nick suggested.

They looked to the left. Then they turned around and looked to the right. An empty road was stretching both ways as far as the eye could reach. Monroe thought he saw a tumbleweed roll by.

"Nope. We're stuck here _am Arsch der Welt_".

"Where?"

"Nevermind. This really couldn't have gone any worse"

At that exact moment, a crash of thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. Monroe sniffed the air.

"Oh,_ and_ there's gonna be a storm. Come on."

He started walking towards the line of trees that fringed the road and Nick followed.

"Where are we going? Can you smell anything?"

"I can smell _a lot_ of things. And I also know there are some caves around here. Better than waiting in the car. There's no point looking for anything in the storm."

"So you've been around here before?"

Of course, Nick remembered that they've been to Mount Hood together already, that time when they were looking for Holly Clark, but the forest was huge, and this particular area was completely unfamiliar to him.

"Sure. I'm the big, bad wolf, remember? Forests are kind of my thing."

The road quickly disappeared from view and the forest was spreading all around them, thick and cool, and unusually quiet. There was no path to be seen anywhere, and Monroe chose his steps carefully, but without hesitation, not once stopping to look about. Nick watched him, not without admiration. It wasn't the first time he noticed that being surrounded by trees turned Monroe into a whole different kind of Blutbad. Not that the clockmaker wasn't a confident enough person anyway, but this was.. something else. All of his movements were assertive yet perfectly smooth, which for a guy of his height was quite a feat. During their training sessions, Nick often wondered whether Monroe were able – or, indeed, willing – to overpower him in any other setting. And now, the detective could not help but think back to the last time they were in the woods together, that hungry red glow in Monroe's eyes as the Blutbad was pinning him to the ground.. Back then, Nick did not think much of it. It usually helped his sanity not to ponder too long on the nature of the Woge and everything it involved. But now, the memory kindled a mixture of feelings that the Grimm was quite unfamiliar with, a flicker of fear, but also something else, something he'd much rather not find a name for.

"So..", Monroe decided to bridge the momentary silence with a conversation that promised to be uncomfortable, but far less so than the one they had in the car earlier on. "If we find that Baba Yaga, what next?"

"Yes, the Baba Yaga!" Nick responded, a little too eagerly. It seemed that, for a second or two, he had forgotten what they were here for. "From what I understand she's like a Hexenbiest, just.. scarier, right?"

"_Everything_ is scarier in Russia."

Monroe gave him a knowing look – which he instantly regretted. It reminded him how close they were, close enough to touch, and all alone. Nick's eyes looked green as grass against the leafage, soft and made for rolling around and hiding inside.

The Blutbad quickly turned away and continued doing what he was best at – talking.

"You know, I was on student exchange in St. Petersburg when I was fifteen, beautiful city, and the amount of Wesen I saw, you wouldn't believe it. It's like Wesen Wonderland over there. Hey, did you know, rumour has it that Putin is a Coyotl?"

"Really? No. But that explains a lot."

"My thoughts entirely."

That was a lie. Monroe's thoughts were entirely different at that very moment. Mostly, he was thinking how nothing was really stopping him from grabbing Nick by the soft fabric of his dark blue hoodie and pushing him against one of the old ash trees they were passing. How easy, how exhilarating it would be to force the other man's shoulders against the fragrant bark and bury his own face deep into his neck..

"So you've met a Baba Yaga?"

"No, they're supposed to be quite rare. But my guest family said - "

"Wait, your guest family were also Blutbaden?"

"Of course. Trust me, sharing the house with some Kehrseiten is the last thing you want when you're a teen Wesen and can't _control yourself_."

Monroe's last two words were more of an instruction to himself. The forest was quite hilly in these parts and they already had to climb several steep, grassy slopes, but hearing Nick's breath quicken ever so slightly affected the Blutbad's heart rate far more than the physical strain.

"So, what did they say?"

"Who?"

"Your guest family. What did they say?"

"Basically, they said.. if you ever meet a Baba Yaga – run!"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Wait a second."

Monroe stopped, resting his hand against another ash tree and hooking his fingers into the deep, pliable ridges of its bark. He couldn't stop thinking about the beautiful marks those ridges would leave when pressed deep into Nick's skin. And other, even better marks that he could leave there himself. It was starting to make his head spin.

"Are you ok?"

"Just tired", Monroe lied again, not very convincingly this time. He could walk for hours without getting tired, and he was pretty sure that Nick knew this.

But, luckily, the first raindrops began to fall and the Blutbad took a few eager breaths. He loved the rich smell of damp earth and rain-soaked leaves that could overpower and dissolve any other smell, even the sweet frangrance of Nick's sweat. Monroe could feel his head clear a little.

"Let's go."

He started walking again, making sure to keep himself slightly ahead of Nick. He would have to take another dose of Fieberdistel soon, that was certain. But he hated the thought of having to do it in front of Nick, again. Monroe decided to pick up their conversation, as casually as he could.

"So, did your books say anything useful?"

"Well, apparently, all Baba Yagas -"

"It's Babi Yagi."

"Ok. All Babi Yagi carry a necklace that holds their powers. So if we can grab that, then.. I've got _this_."

Monroe heard a metallic clang and turned to look. Nick was holding what seemed like an ancient dagger covered in cyrillic letters. He must have worn it on his belt, hidden under the hoodie all this time. The dagger was rather small.

"And how are we gonna get that close to her?"

"We'll just have to distract her somehow. We'll think of something."

"Right. Let's hope we think of something before _she_ thinks of inviting us for dinner. And not as guests."

The rain grew heavier and the two men quickened their pace. Nick, for his part, made sure to stay slightly behind the Blutbad. He slid the dagger back into its sheath, however, his hand refused to leave the hilt. Of course, he would never hurt his friend, and yet.. Monroe had never been a particularly good liar, and when they rested earlier, Nick could clearly see the red flicker in his eyes. Of course, he had seen Monroe woge countless times; but this time it made his breath catch in his throat. He tried to convince himself that, maybe, Monroe had smelled a rabbit or something. But, in all fairness, Nick was a pretty bad liar himself. Right now, most of him regretted asking the Blutbad for help. Most of him thought that, probably, Monroe was right to want him to stay away. However, it wasn't _all_ of him, and _that_ was the truly scary part, that he -

"OH SHIT!"

Monroe froze on the spot all of a sudden, and Nick almost walked into him. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, but his throat felt a little dry, and before he could say anything Monroe was already anxiously pointing ahead. He looked positively panicked.

"It's just 200 metres. Go. I'll catch up."

"Wait, what - "

But Monroe had already turned on his heels and was gone.

"Monroe, wait!"

Nick rushed to follow him, but it was too late. The Blutbad could be very quick when he wanted to. The forest was growing thick and dark around the detective now, shady from the low hanging clouds that were veiling the sky. The rain was like a gray curtain, blocking his view.

"Monroe? What the hell?!"

The only answer he got was a crash of thunder.

Nick was all alone.

* * *

A/N 2: Right, I have a question for my fellow authors: is it weird that I'm writing from both perspectives now? Does it break the style / consistency of the story? I would be very interested to hear opinions.

Update - A/N 3: Arghhh I'm feeling awful about this story right now. I'm re-watching season one (just the Monroe bits), and now I'm thinking I've got his character totally wrong and it's making me sad :-/ maybe it's time to let this story die a natural death.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: So I've decided to continue this story, even though I'm not 100% happy with it, but I've got it all planned out in my head, so I need to write it down.

* * *

Once Monroe was certain that Nick didn't follow him he stopped running like a lunatic and slumped down on an old tree stump, breathing heavily and clawing trembling fingers into wet hair. Literally, clawing. The panic had brought out his animal features in full force.

It had to be somewhere around here. It just had to.

The Blutbad jumped up again and rushed in the direction of the road. They had not walked too far. He only needed to retrace their steps, and then he would find it, for sure.

He tried to remember at what moment the little bottle might have dropped from his pocket, but it was hopeless. What's worse, finding the exact way they had walked earlier proved more difficult than expected. The storm was in full swing now. Rain had washed away their trail and stung in Monroe's eyes as he was desperately kicking about the long grass, searching for his precious Fieberdistel-Extrakt.

The search was purposeful and determined at first, but, gradually, frustration began to take over. The Blutbad's senses were quickly adjusting to the changed weather conditions. Soon, what he was trying so hard to ignore came back to haunt him, seeping through the dense, humid air like fresh blood through a bandage, like a dazzling red thread winding through the grey forest, pulling at his every nerve. Nick's scent was overwhelming.

Monroe stopped what he was doing and stared in the direction of the caves. He was completely soaked through and the sun was setting already, taking the afternoon warmth along with it, but Monroe had stopped feeling the rain and the cold some time ago. Blood was seething in his veins. It was time. Time to stop this pointless search and stop denying himself what should be rightfully his.

_Oh God_! Monroe buried his face in his hands and stumbled backwards in shock until his back hit the comforting sturdiness of an old tree. How could he even think that? Nick was his _friend_.

But was he really? So far, Nick had only known how to take. He really should be taught how to give.

The Blutbad groaned, sinking his fangs into the back of his hand until his mouth was filled with the metallic taste of his own blood. He let himself slide down the tree trunk, hugging his knees and pressing his forehead into them until he was all curled up in a tiny ball of anguish. He had to leave. If nothing else, he could walk back to Portland. It would probably take him a whole day, but it was possible.

But no, he couldn't leave Nick here in the forest, all alone.

But no, he did not _want_ to leave Nick alone, in any shape or form. Why should he? And if Nick resisted.. well, out here, nobody would hear him scream.

Monroe hauled off and banged the back of his head against the tree, so hard that it made him dizzy for a few seconds, but it did nothing to get rid of the unwanted thoughts.

Maybe they weren't entirely unwanted after all?

Something was very, very wrong here. Monroe could honestly say that he had never felt like this before, not this kind of violent, heart-shattering, all-encompassing desire, not even in those wild days when he was fucking everything that moved. Something was going on. He started rubbing his fists against his forehead, frantically, trying to understand. What was it? What was it?

And then it hit him and his eyes widened in sudden realisation. That day, when Rosalee brought him the Fieberdistel, he didn't pay much attention to her. He had other things on his mind, and did his best to get rid of her as quickly as he could before she had a chance to realise who the tincture was _really_ for. But, subconsciously, he must have listened to her and stored it somewhere at the back of his head, because he remembered her words perfectly clearly now.

"Tell your friend to be very careful with the dosage", Rosalee had said. "If he takes too much, he might crash, and then whatever he is trying to suppress will come back to bite him, and I mean, _really _bite him."

She had that concerned look on her face and didn't seem too happy letting him have the bottle. Maybe she already knew.

Monroe let out a sob, rocking back and forth. How could he have been so careless? How could he have forgotten about this, when attention to detail was his bread and butter? He fell over, landing on his hands and pressing his eyes into the cold, wet grass, sweating out of every pore as the yearning was becoming unbearable. It was unforgivable. Unforgivable.

And then he felt something firm and edgy burying itself into his cheek. He pushed harder into it at first, craving punishment. But as the pain was growing, so was the question what it might be. Monroe lifted his head, reaching out and bringing the object up to his face.

It was a gun. And not just any gun. It was Nick's gun. Monroe was very certain. He inspected it, incredulously, as if he had never seen a gun before. How did it get here? He slowly rose to his feet, still staring at it. He had to take it back to Nick, he would give it back to him and apologise, for everything, again.

But how could Nick have dropped it? He mussed have forgotten to fasten the button on the holster, and then it must have slid out when they were climbing one of those steep slopes. Monroe did notice how distracted Nick had seemed since the very beginning of their trip.

Well, the Blutbad could certainly think of something that would guarantee him the Grimm's full attention.

Monroe chuckled. Suddenly, all that inner turmoil had dissipated. An almost full moon was on the rise and shone peacefully upon the wet moss, interspersed with small, red berries. The rain was already easing off.

The Blutbad took a last look at the gun, then he hurled it as far away as he could.

* * *

A/N 2: I think evil Monroe is growing on me, he he. ;) Please review :D


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